MY PENCIL'D BACK
'Those aren't whiplashes, you idiot, they
just look like that - they're really marks
from a pencil. The Spirit writes on me at
night - the words enter my soul, and I
understand them upon awakening. Before
that, nothing will do. I understand the
alignment at dawn. Lance and spike and
spear : weapons of a convincing yet very
basic means. No splitting the atom here
or mushroom clouds. Do you see any
difference between that and the man
with his head split wide open?
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